Keeping It Simple One Day at a Time

Dying to be Read 1982-1991

The Perfect Rhyme...

All My Life I've been searching for The Perfect Rhyme

From the sands on the shore To the stars in the sky

Through the seasons of time , The reason I'm alive

I long to find The Perfect Rhyme

I know not how it started

It just happened one day

People told Me I was crazy

They would always turn away

I would just turn the page

Writing until My fingers bled

I hear the water in the park
I hear the wind in the trees
I hear the sound of a meadow lark
Birds chirping in the distant breeze

Learning to appreciate the simplest things
To most is so unnatural
Next best thing to having wings
Or having a favourite pal

To observe the world around me
"What took me so long?"
To learn to let it be
Simply partake in a song

Surrounded by loved ones
Life has taken a turn
In love I have lost
Now I have won

Life…

Submitted by Robert Tucker PhD on Sun, 2018-08-26 11:28

The grand master hung over me
And shadowed all but the rolling sea
In the flowered green hollow of the valley
The fairies and elves danced with glee
From the perch high above I could see
The coloured bridge that often covered me
There In that unknown to dare all fantasies
While travelling untested paths to condone
All I did see whilst contemplating alone
In the vision that willingly guided me home
And each moment spent at dusk
A new adventure was mine to entrust
And guide those to a needed seer

In the golden light of forever
shes skipping and dancing about.
She's running along with unicorns
of this dears I have no doubt.
 
On earth she was a treasure
that god had lent for a while,
gentle blessings were bestowed
from her laugh and in her smile.

Warm baths and warm hands
some of her favourite things,
nail polish of various colours,
until she heard an angel sing.

Mistah Kurtz—he dead.

A penny for the Old Guy

I
We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats' feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar

Shape without form, shade without colour,
Paralysed force, gesture without motion;

she was
his glory
which he
wore so
well
in her
he rejoiced
through him
she was sublime
together
they drew ecstasy
with each
breath

On the sidewalk
she laid there,
a delicate island
surrounded by stone.

How long had she lain
In fear of being trampled
by important, impatient
people, I do not know.

But when she saw me
it seemed, I could be wrong,
but colors seemed to brighten
and her sweet scent exuded.

She came into my hands
thankful -her bruised
and tender head.

But such sweet scent,
her lovely face,
were more thanks
then ever I could repay.

The next time a thought comes
A hungry long-necked vulture

And it tries to shred your peace
Eyes homing on horses fleeing lions

Open up your palms
Maybe hooves might outdo paws

Keep them abut, reader’s style
Neigh too, nothing’s new about roars

Count all the sprawling whorls
As you sprint, kick from the rear

There are a billion patterns of you
Dizzy them with a circuitous race

Lines of beauty thicker than despair
The vulture would seek a meal elsewhere